Hot Chocolate and Peter Pan
by onlymystory
Summary: Derek is having a bad day. He doesn't have a reason so he doesn't think it can be fixed. Stiles makes hot chocolate and reads him a story, because Stiles knows how to fix very bad days.
1. Chapter 1

Stiles heard his front door open and the sounds of the pack come in late one Saturday night. It had been snowing all day, a rarity in Beacon Hills and he was relaxing while the werewolves spent the day in training. He hadn't expected to see anyone until tomorrow.

When no one appeared in his bedroom, he put on his slippers and a hoodie over his t-shirt and padded downstairs.

The pack looked pissed, surrounding Derek, who had a sad and sullen look on his face.

"What's going on?"

Boyd shoved Derek at him. "He's grumpier than normal. We're going back home for a movie night. Fix him."

Stiles didn't even bother arguing with them. If Boyd was frustrated, something was definitely wrong. "I've got him," he said. "You guys go."

They hurried out and Stiles turned to Derek. "What's today?"

Derek glared at him. "I didn't lose my memory, Stiles."

"Didn't say you did. I just thought maybe it was someone's birthday or something else special that reminds you of your family and that's why you're upset and taking it out on the pack."

Derek looked a little ashamed. "Oh. No, it's not anything like that." He was quiet again.

"Hey, talk to me."

"It's nothing."

"I can't help if you don't talk to me, Derek." Stiles stepped closer but didn't touch Derek, trying to determine if the werewolf needed space or comfort.

"You'll think it's stupid."

"Try me."

"I…I'm just having a bad day. I don't even have a good reason to be upset." Derek hung his head. "See, stupid."

Stiles took Derek's hands in his. "Not stupid. C'mon, I think I can help after all."

He pulled Derek into the living room and made him sit in the over-sized chair. Stiles grabbed a blanket off the couch and tucked it over Derek, then rubbed a hand through the Alpha's hair. "Just sit for a few minutes okay?"

Derek leaned his head against the back of the chair. "Okay," he said quietly.

Stiles went into the kitchen and put a pot on the stove. He poured in milk, letting it slowly heat. Once the milk started warming up, he added chocolate syrup, vanilla and a little bit of cinnamon, stirring slowly until the hot chocolate was nice and hot.

Stiles poured the entire batch into one big mug and added a handful of marshmallows. The jumbo kind because those were for bad days and mini-marshmallows are for normal days.

He ran upstairs to grab a book off his desk and came back down to find the marshmallows melting perfectly on top.

Satisfied with his creation, Stiles walked back into the living room and handed the hot chocolate to Derek, before sitting down next to him and curling his legs up over the werewolf's.

Derek moved his free arm out so Stiles could lean against his chest and shoulder, the mug still in one hand. He looked at Stiles uncertainly. "What's that for?"

"The hot chocolate is because while it can't fix everything, it always helps for a few minutes," answered Stiles.

"It does?" asked Derek cautiously.

"Mmm-hmm. My mom always said that you have to concentrate when you drink it so you can taste all the chocolate goodness. It doesn't leave any time for thinking about anything that makes you sad." Stiles opened the book up. "This is for me to read while you drink your hot chocolate."

"What about the pack? They're upset."

"They'll get over it. You just let me take care of you tonight, okay?"

"Okay." Derek took a sip of his cocoa as Stiles snuggled in with his well-worn and unmarked book.

Stiles turned to the first page and started reading.

_All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, "Oh, why can't you remain like this forever!" This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end._

Derek looked at him. "Peter Pan?"

"It's my new favorite," answered Stiles before continuing.

He got a little further before Derek interrupted again. "New favorite?"

"It reminds me of you."

That got a really puzzled look from the werewolf. "Me? How does a kid who never grows up remind you of me? Or do I even want to know?"

Stiles placed the book in his lap while he explained. "I think sometimes Peter is the most grown-up of all kids. He doesn't have his real family anymore but he still found a home. He takes in all the lost boys, even though they're rowdy and get in trouble all the time, but he looks after them and fights bad guys for them, even though nobody ever really takes care of Peter until Wendy came along."

Derek stared at Stiles for a long time, something like awe passing over his face at the idea of this boy paying so much attention to him. He didn't feel very worthy of that. So Derek covered. "You're Wendy?"

"Well you do like to sneak in my window at night," smiled Stiles. He knew how to read Derek's looks at this point and he could see the fondness in the other's eyes. "But I always liked Tink better. She stayed with Peter always."

Derek took another sip of his cocoa and Stiles continued.

_I don't know whether you have ever seen a map of a person's mind. Doctors sometimes draw maps of other parts of you, and your own map can become intensely interesting, but catch them trying to draw a map of a child's mind, which is not only confused, but keeps going round all the time. There are zigzag lines on it, just like your temperature on a card, and these are probably roads in the island, for the Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose. It would be an easy map if that were all, but there is also first day at school, religion, fathers, the round pond, needle-work, murders, hangings, verbs that take the dative, chocolate pudding day, getting into braces, say ninety-nine, three-pence for pulling out your tooth yourself, and so on, and either these are part of the island or they are another map showing through, and it is all rather confusing, especially as nothing will stand still._

Derek lasted through a few chapters before he spoke up again. "Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to share my hot chocolate?"

Stiles let Derek tilt the cup a little bit so he could share. It was still warm, even though it was about half gone. Stiles absently wondered if Derek's hands kept it warmer than normal because of his internal temperature.

Once Stiles was done, he nudged the mug away and Derek set the mug on the table next to them. Then he leaned his head against Stiles' shoulder so the story could continue.

_"Why, Tink, how dare you drink my medicine?"_

_But she did not answer. Already she was reeling in the air._

_"What is the matter with you?" cried Peter, suddenly afraid._

_"It was poisoned, Peter," she told him softly; "and now I am going to be dead."_

_"O Tink, did you drink it to save me?"_

_"Yes."_

_"But why, Tink?"_

_Her wings would scarcely carry her now, but in reply she alighted on his shoulder and gave his nose a loving bite. She whispered in his ear "You silly ass," and then, tottering to her chamber, lay down on the bed._

When Stiles was done, he looked down at Derek. The werewolf's eyes were closed and he breathed evenly. Stiles pulled the blanket a little tighter around both of them and turned out the light.

His hand gently wove through Derek's hair, rubbing away as much of the sadness as he could while he watched the snow continue falling outside the window.

Stiles thought Derek was falling asleep when the werewolf spoke quietly against his neck. "May I give you a kiss?" he asked softly.

Stiles smiled a yes and turned his face down as Derek leaned up and kissed him softly. Then Derek nuzzled back against Stiles and fell asleep tasting of hot cocoa and Stiles and very little sadness.


	2. Chapter 2

**I was going to have Derek make stone soup after Stiles got hurt in some yet again mystical battle but then I was rereading Where The Wild Things Are and this version practically wrote itself. (FYI: Everyone needs to read that book like once a month for their entire life. It's never not perfect.) **

**One little note is that I utilized a few quotes within the dialogue. The italicized parts are either direct or paraphrased quotes from "Where The Wild Things Are." I'm a big fan of using quotes from time to time but it bugs me when an author doesn't make it clear which ones are quotes and which are original. Be forthright. So yeah, I think I made it clear which were quotes.**

* * *

"Where's Stiles?" asked Derek when it became clear that the noise level at his home was distinctly lower than it normally was. Not that he could tell all that well. Jackson was sparring with Boyd and the girls were debating something that sounded like explosive arrows and boy was that not a conversation he wanted to have. Isaac and Scott were planning video game options for later.

Stiles should have been right in the middle of it.

"Scott!" snapped Derek again, frustrated. "Where's Stiles?"

Scott barely looked up. "Dude, he's just sick."

"Sick? With what? Did something attack him? I can get Deaton," Derek immediately flashed through any possibilities. There weren't many. Beacon Hills had been quite for the last few months, if Stiles was hurt, this was a new threat.

His worry at least triggered Scott's full attention. "Derek, he's fine. Seriously. Stiles caught a cold, he didn't want to spread it to any of the other human pack members. No big deal."

"He didn't tell me," said Derek. That wasn't actually something he meant to say out loud. Clearly if the multiple and varied looks he was getting from his pack were any indicator.

"Maybe because he doesn't want to bother you," said Scott, turning back to Isaac and dismissing the conversation.

Derek frowned. "Stiles should know that I'd be concerned if he was sick. It's not a bother."

Jackson rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's not that. You two have gotten along a lot better since a couple months ago when you were all down in the dumps and we dropped you off at his place. But you don't talk. About anything. And the unresolved eye-sex is getting on everyone's nerves."

Derek really didn't know how to respond to that.

Lydia stepped in with an attempt to help. "Stiles has the impression that while pack stuff is all well and good, you didn't actually want to have to trust someone else to take care of you, and that he overstepped that night. He doesn't tell you when he's sick or having a bad day because he doesn't want you to feel pressured to reciprocate."

"I don't feel pressured," protested Derek. "I want to take care of him."

The exasperated sighs around him make it clear that this is not news.

"We know," said Jackson. "So maybe you should go tell Stiles that."

"I didn't want him to feel obligated," admitted Derek. "I don't want him to feel like he has to be the one to take care of me."

Isaac was the final one to butt in. "You're an idiot. Stiles doesn't take care of you. Not just you. He takes care of all of us. You're our Alpha but we're his pack. It's about time you realized that Stiles never does anything he doesn't want to do. Now go talk to him and help him feel better and make it very clear how you feel."

Derek figured that was good enough for him. "Meeting's canceled. I'll leave money on the entry table for pizza if you guys still want to order some." He shrugged his jacket on and headed to the store before making his way to Stiles' home.

Derek opened the front door quietly, set his purchases down and went upstairs to tap at Stiles' door.

A sleepy voice answered. "Dad? Thought you had work."

"Not your Dad," said Derek.

Stiles gave him just a hint of a smile, the kind that meant he wasn't fully conscious yet. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Heard you were sick. You should have called."

"Didn't want to bother the pack."

Derek growled a little, the one he used when pack members were being ridiculous. Scott was on the receiving end of that growl the most.

Stiles' sick state worked against him a little bit. "I wasn't really sure what was going on with us either," he revealed.

"Apparently nothing because we're both idiots," said Derek. He moved away from the door to come sit by Stiles when the teen started coughing. Derek rubbed Stiles' back gently until the coughing started.

"Both?" he asked.

"I was worried you were being nice to me out of obligation. I'm told you didn't want to take advantage," explained the werewolf.

"Oh." Stiles' smile brightened for a second, then turned to a slight frown. "Wish you would have confessed that when I had the lung capacity to do something about it."

Derek grinned and rubbed his nose in Stiles' hair, letting himself find the same comfort in the scent as he had the night Stiles' took care of him. Even sick, Stiles' scent made Derek feel at peace. "I'll make sure to be here when you get that back. Until then, are you hungry?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah. But we don't really have anything in the house except juice and cough syrup."

"I know. I picked up groceries. Go back to sleep for a little bit and I'll bring up soup when it's ready." Derek ran his hand through Stiles' hair as he moved away, mostly just for the fact that he could.

Stiles gave a contented murmur as he sank back into the pillows. Clearly exhausted, he was asleep by the time Derek made it back downstairs.

Derek wasn't a chef by any means and it had been years since he did much more than heat up frozen dinners or order takeout. The pack hanging out all the time, plus several of them living at the house, meant that simpler meals were in order usually. The kitchen had also been dubbed Stiles and Boyd's domain. Derek still didn't know what the two talked about or how they'd decided they were the pack cooks, but the food was always too good for anyone to fight the arrangement.

But there were a few dishes that he'd learned from his family that never really left. His mother's chicken soup—used only when a kid was sick—was one of them. He brushed aside the few tears that threatened to escape at the memories and started chopping vegetables and boiling the broth. Stiles was worth it.

Something seemed to heal in Derek as he worked, something he hadn't even realized could be fixed, and he resolved to try cooking a little more often. Maybe all that stuff about it being therapeutic wasn't total crap.

An hour passed before the soup was done. Derek ate his in the kitchen before carrying a mug up to Stiles. He slipped the book he'd brought out of one of the bags as well.

Stiles was sitting up when he came in, though Derek knew he'd only been awake for a few minutes.

"Soup?" asked Stiles, hands making grabby motions.

"My mom's recipe."

"Oh." Stiles got how much that mattered, even if Derek didn't say anything. "Thank you." The words were simple but clearly heartfelt.

Derek climbed into the bed and slid over next to Stiles, letting his arm brace the teen upright so Stiles' could eat. Stiles gratefully snuggled into his touch before taking a careful bite.

"That's really good."

Derek's arm tightened the tiniest bit, pleased that he'd made Stiles happy.

"Did you bring a book?" asked Stiles, noticing what was in Derek's hand.

Derek nodded, bringing it to his lap.

"Where The Wild Things Are?" There were a few questions wrapped into the spoken one.

"You remind me of Max," said Derek. He didn't really know how to explain beyond that. He hoped Stiles understood.

Derek didn't need to worry. "Well then," said Stiles after taking another sip of the chicken soup. _"Let the wild rumpus start."_

Derek read quietly, voice inflecting at his favorite parts, and stopping to savor the best parts of the story. He finished and set the book aside, then moved the mug over to Stiles' desk when the teen indicated that he was done. Derek sat back down and let Stiles snuggle his way back to a comfortable position, pressed into Derek's side and head curled onto his shoulder.

Stiles turned his cheek against Derek's shoulder and looked up at the werewolf. "Why me?"

Derek answered first with a very soft kiss to Stiles' lips. Just enough to be a promise. _"Because you are the real king of all wild things."_

There was silence for a moment. Stiles' nuzzled closer into Derek, almost purring when Derek tightened his grip and tangled his legs with Stiles'.

The boy was still, in the way that meant he was content and happy, a state that Stiles could rarely be found in. Derek was sure Stiles had drifted off to sleep when the teen spoke again.

His words were soft and—not hesitant, but careful, as though he needed the answer, had to ask even if it pushed too far. "_Do you love me best of all?"_

Derek hummed the tiniest of growls against Stiles' hair. _"I could eat you up, I love you so."_


End file.
